Friday, April 30, 2004
Yeah, I’m a copycat
But it’s not like I’m copying Kristin just for the sake of copying. It’s just that her idea of making introductions was such a great one. I’ve recently realized that, although many of the people on my link bar to the left all went to the same college, they might not know each other, or know how I know some of the others. In fact, I’m afraid that some of them might not even know how they know me. Hence the ripping off of Kristin’s idea.
But first, a little terminology lesson that will prove helpful to those of you who did not attend college with us. Most of these people I know because they were members (at various times) of the Freshman Interest Group (FIG) that I belonged to my first semester of college. As a result, most of us also lived in the same dorm, called the Fine Arts Residential College (or FARC). And, at some point, we spent some time in the esteemed School of Journalism (or the j-school). Oh, how Mizzou loves its abbreviations. Now that we’re all up to speed, let’s begin.
Anne was in the FIG after me. She too was a magazine major, which means she had the great privilege of being annoyed by many of the same people as me. For this reason, Anne was (and still is) one of my best sources of juicy j-school gossip.
Hannah is one of my friends from the study abroad program I did in London. Hannah and I became friends after I struck up a conversation with her, thinking she was someone else. But I soon found out that Hannah was much cooler than the person I had originally intended to talk to, so it all worked out. Hannah and I both get bitterly competitive over board games, so it’s best to put us on a team together to avoid a big tiff that will certainly be brought up again each time a board game is played.
The Cynical Tyrant is widely believed to be my long-lost twin. Yet we have never met. She stumbled upon my blog by random coincidence (or an act of divine intervention, however you want to look at it), and we soon discovered that we shared a deep obsession for American Idol (the outcome of which we have been known to control through our joint mystical powers) and Bluebell chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream.
Holly was in the FIG with me. Although we became friends freshman year, our first major bonding experience occurred sophomore year, when I accompanied Holly to the mall to get half of her hair chopped off and then helped her conquer her fear of dancing at The Blue Note. Since then, Holly and I have gone out dancing many more times and gone to the mall many, many, many more times (though usually for shopping, not a repeat of the hair-chopping incident).
Dave was in the FIG before me. We bonded freshman year when he let me paint his fingernails purple. Then we bonded again a few years later when we nearly met our untimely demise on an ill-fated teacup ride. Obviously, Dave and I have been through a lot together, which is probably why he’s willing to indulge me when I ask him to take pictures of me holding up monuments and stuff.
Heather (the originator of the holding-stuff-up picture) is another of my friends from my time in London. She might be the most insane person I know, which is why I love her. Heather and I have had many adventures together, including an awesome trip to Barcelona, an…um, interesting trip to Ireland and a trip to France during which Heather was convinced we were going to be murdered by a man making mashed potatoes in our hostel kitchen.
Justin was in the FIG after me, and he is probably one of the coolest people I know in real life. He’s like a rock star, only without a band. Plus, he has a Super Cool Girlfriend, Kristin (whose relationship to me will be discussed later, because I’m going in order of links). So is it any surprise that Justin, like yours truly, was part of The Coolest Class of All Time (Critical Reviewing)?
Rob was, I believe, two FIGs after me. By that time, I had already moved out of the dorm, so I never got to live with Rob. However, due to a chance meeting on the street outside my apartment building, Rob was the last person I saw before I left college, and the first person to find out that I was moving to Birmingham (besides my dad, who told me).
Amber was the head honcho (PA in Mizzou-speak) of my FIG, and of Dave’s FIG, too. I love Amber because she gives you money when you use big words. Three years ago, at Kristen’s 21st birthday party, she gave me a quarter for saying that Chicago should be extricated from the state of Illinois. This was shortly before I got so drunk that I fell flat on my face on the sidewalk.
J-Dub was in the FIG after me. I once wrote a story on his Christmas decorations for the Missourian because he had a stocking for Wilford Brimley. Consequently, in my pile o’ clips, I now have a huge picture of him standing by a Christmas tree.
Autumn was friends with a number of my j-school friends. She also really likes to watch Friends. I would run into Autumn occasionally when we were both working at the Missourian, and once she unwittingly sent me into the projects after I agreed to do a Vox story for her.
Chase was a co-editor with me at Vox and a co-member of the highly exclusive organization G.L.O.S. (Gorgeous Ladies of Screen, or in his case, Gigolo Lothario of Screen). Chase coined the phrase “caustic and sensual” to describe me (in conjunction with Kate). He is also quite caustic and sensual himself, which is why I’m willing to forgive him for doing things like throwing up on my car and quoting offensive lines from Storytelling at inappropriate moments.
Scott was in the FIG after me. Occasionally, I would run into him when he was giving campus tours. And for some reason, I think he was a Summer Welcome leader when I was working at the Union, although I might be making that up. He shares my obsession with melodramatic prime-time soap operas set in California, and that is why he is my new pretend fiancé.
Kristin was also in the FIG after me. She was the first beautiful young person I knew who could knit, so I thought she was cool. Then I found out that she loves N Sync and reading, and her coolness was cemented. Apparently, the first time I met Kristin, I was too drunk to remember it. Lovely.
Doug was in my FIG. I knew I liked Doug when, a few days after meeting him, he revealed that he shared my utter loathing for pep rallies and anything having to do with school spirit. He also revealed that he had never seen a deer except for in the zoo, which caused me to think he led a really sheltered life. And also that he had patronized some really odd zoos. These days, Doug and I are pen pals, which started after I sent him a note on some weird stationery for some reason I cannot recall. He also used to be my pretend fiancé, before he dumped me for Katrina and I dumped him for Scott.
Kella was my CE (Mizzou-speak for RA) at FARC for a brief time before I moved to London. During that time, she gave us a survey to fill out about what we would do if we were president. One of the questions on the survey was, “What request of yours would present the greatest challenge to your spin doctors?” My answer: “Me constantly asking them to play ‘Two Princes.’” Unfortunately, I later came to a question in the survey that I could not think of a sarcastic quip for, so I never finished it. Which is a shame, because I was really proud of that answer.
So that’s everyone on the link bar. But there are a few other people who need introductions, either because they used to be on the link bar but foolishly gave up their blogs or because they never had blogs in the first place (despite my constant pleas) but are often mentioned on this one. These people are:
Paul, who was in the FIG after me. Along with Justin, he is the Co-Conspirator of Cool. He was also part of the Coolest Class of All Time, which is how he came to be sitting next to me while I slept through most of Apocalypse Now Redux. Paul is also responsible for teaching me how to deal drugs on a TI-86 calculator.
Julie, who was also in the FIG after me. (See a pattern here?) Julie and I were members of the Uncoolest Class of All Time (Cross-Cultural Journalism, which not even Jacqui Banaszynski—the Coolest Teacher of All Time—could save from uncoolness), where we exchanged many an eye-roll over the antics of our fellow classmates. Come to think of it, Paul was also in that class with us, and one day to illustrate diversity in magazine advertising, he brought in an ad with a robot in it, which was probably the funniest thing that ever happened in that class.
Kate, who was in my FIG. When asked to describe each other, Kate and I usually say, “She’s like me…only different.” When asked to describe us collectively, her dad says we’re “throwbacks to the Gatsby era.” Kate and I have been friends since the first day of freshman year, when Amber broke our FIG into pairs and had us tell each other our most embarrassing moments. Only I wouldn’t stop talking and flying off into a million different tangents, so when it came time for Kate to share my most embarrassing moment with the group, she couldn’t remember what it was and had to make something up.
Kristen, who was also in my FIG and is another friend from the first day of college. She’s also my drinking buddy and co-creator of the secret drinking buddy handshake (which is actually not much of a secret, since we were so proud of it that we showed it to everyone). I can take credit for introducing Kristen to the wonder that is squirt cheese, and she can take credit for introducing me to the wonder that is Moose Tracks ice cream. Last year, Kristen got married in The Most Awesome Wedding Ever. It seriously was awesome. See for yourself.
Diana, another member of my FIG and my roommate all four years of college. Through a seemingly random assignment from Res Life, Diana and I found each other and discovered that we had the same favorite color (red), dads with the same first name (Tom) and the same lifelong dream (to spend the night in a 24-hour Wal-Mart). Diana and I have been through much together, including the extremely difficult admission of our mutual admiration of Britney Spears, a battle with our crippling addiction to Monopoly and a pilgrimage to Graceland, as well as some other things that shouldn’t be mentioned in polite company.
Bri, who is one of my oldest friends. Not in terms of age (she’s probably one of my youngest friends in that respect), but in terms of knowing me the longest. Bri and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, although judging by the pictures in family photo albums, it was probably when I was about 5 and she was about 3. Technically, Bri was my sister’s friend first, because when you’re little, you tend to only be friends with people your own age. But then we got into high school and spent many, many hours together during thrift-shopping expeditions, marching band competitions and church trips to Florida. It was during these many hours that we launched most of our great ideas, including Razorblade Marshmallow, our line of cute one-piece swimwear, and clubs such as the Hamsters Against Drunk Driving (HADD), the International Federation of Playa Hatas (IFPH) and our most famous, The Saved by the Bell Preservation/Appreciation Society (SBTBP/AS), which eventually spawned The Saved by the Bell Blog.
Whew! OK, now you all know each other. I probably should have done that sooner.
But it’s not like I’m copying Kristin just for the sake of copying. It’s just that her idea of making introductions was such a great one. I’ve recently realized that, although many of the people on my link bar to the left all went to the same college, they might not know each other, or know how I know some of the others. In fact, I’m afraid that some of them might not even know how they know me. Hence the ripping off of Kristin’s idea.
But first, a little terminology lesson that will prove helpful to those of you who did not attend college with us. Most of these people I know because they were members (at various times) of the Freshman Interest Group (FIG) that I belonged to my first semester of college. As a result, most of us also lived in the same dorm, called the Fine Arts Residential College (or FARC). And, at some point, we spent some time in the esteemed School of Journalism (or the j-school). Oh, how Mizzou loves its abbreviations. Now that we’re all up to speed, let’s begin.
Anne was in the FIG after me. She too was a magazine major, which means she had the great privilege of being annoyed by many of the same people as me. For this reason, Anne was (and still is) one of my best sources of juicy j-school gossip.
Hannah is one of my friends from the study abroad program I did in London. Hannah and I became friends after I struck up a conversation with her, thinking she was someone else. But I soon found out that Hannah was much cooler than the person I had originally intended to talk to, so it all worked out. Hannah and I both get bitterly competitive over board games, so it’s best to put us on a team together to avoid a big tiff that will certainly be brought up again each time a board game is played.
The Cynical Tyrant is widely believed to be my long-lost twin. Yet we have never met. She stumbled upon my blog by random coincidence (or an act of divine intervention, however you want to look at it), and we soon discovered that we shared a deep obsession for American Idol (the outcome of which we have been known to control through our joint mystical powers) and Bluebell chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream.
Holly was in the FIG with me. Although we became friends freshman year, our first major bonding experience occurred sophomore year, when I accompanied Holly to the mall to get half of her hair chopped off and then helped her conquer her fear of dancing at The Blue Note. Since then, Holly and I have gone out dancing many more times and gone to the mall many, many, many more times (though usually for shopping, not a repeat of the hair-chopping incident).
Dave was in the FIG before me. We bonded freshman year when he let me paint his fingernails purple. Then we bonded again a few years later when we nearly met our untimely demise on an ill-fated teacup ride. Obviously, Dave and I have been through a lot together, which is probably why he’s willing to indulge me when I ask him to take pictures of me holding up monuments and stuff.
Heather (the originator of the holding-stuff-up picture) is another of my friends from my time in London. She might be the most insane person I know, which is why I love her. Heather and I have had many adventures together, including an awesome trip to Barcelona, an…um, interesting trip to Ireland and a trip to France during which Heather was convinced we were going to be murdered by a man making mashed potatoes in our hostel kitchen.
Justin was in the FIG after me, and he is probably one of the coolest people I know in real life. He’s like a rock star, only without a band. Plus, he has a Super Cool Girlfriend, Kristin (whose relationship to me will be discussed later, because I’m going in order of links). So is it any surprise that Justin, like yours truly, was part of The Coolest Class of All Time (Critical Reviewing)?
Rob was, I believe, two FIGs after me. By that time, I had already moved out of the dorm, so I never got to live with Rob. However, due to a chance meeting on the street outside my apartment building, Rob was the last person I saw before I left college, and the first person to find out that I was moving to Birmingham (besides my dad, who told me).
Amber was the head honcho (PA in Mizzou-speak) of my FIG, and of Dave’s FIG, too. I love Amber because she gives you money when you use big words. Three years ago, at Kristen’s 21st birthday party, she gave me a quarter for saying that Chicago should be extricated from the state of Illinois. This was shortly before I got so drunk that I fell flat on my face on the sidewalk.
J-Dub was in the FIG after me. I once wrote a story on his Christmas decorations for the Missourian because he had a stocking for Wilford Brimley. Consequently, in my pile o’ clips, I now have a huge picture of him standing by a Christmas tree.
Autumn was friends with a number of my j-school friends. She also really likes to watch Friends. I would run into Autumn occasionally when we were both working at the Missourian, and once she unwittingly sent me into the projects after I agreed to do a Vox story for her.
Chase was a co-editor with me at Vox and a co-member of the highly exclusive organization G.L.O.S. (Gorgeous Ladies of Screen, or in his case, Gigolo Lothario of Screen). Chase coined the phrase “caustic and sensual” to describe me (in conjunction with Kate). He is also quite caustic and sensual himself, which is why I’m willing to forgive him for doing things like throwing up on my car and quoting offensive lines from Storytelling at inappropriate moments.
Scott was in the FIG after me. Occasionally, I would run into him when he was giving campus tours. And for some reason, I think he was a Summer Welcome leader when I was working at the Union, although I might be making that up. He shares my obsession with melodramatic prime-time soap operas set in California, and that is why he is my new pretend fiancé.
Kristin was also in the FIG after me. She was the first beautiful young person I knew who could knit, so I thought she was cool. Then I found out that she loves N Sync and reading, and her coolness was cemented. Apparently, the first time I met Kristin, I was too drunk to remember it. Lovely.
Doug was in my FIG. I knew I liked Doug when, a few days after meeting him, he revealed that he shared my utter loathing for pep rallies and anything having to do with school spirit. He also revealed that he had never seen a deer except for in the zoo, which caused me to think he led a really sheltered life. And also that he had patronized some really odd zoos. These days, Doug and I are pen pals, which started after I sent him a note on some weird stationery for some reason I cannot recall. He also used to be my pretend fiancé, before he dumped me for Katrina and I dumped him for Scott.
Kella was my CE (Mizzou-speak for RA) at FARC for a brief time before I moved to London. During that time, she gave us a survey to fill out about what we would do if we were president. One of the questions on the survey was, “What request of yours would present the greatest challenge to your spin doctors?” My answer: “Me constantly asking them to play ‘Two Princes.’” Unfortunately, I later came to a question in the survey that I could not think of a sarcastic quip for, so I never finished it. Which is a shame, because I was really proud of that answer.
So that’s everyone on the link bar. But there are a few other people who need introductions, either because they used to be on the link bar but foolishly gave up their blogs or because they never had blogs in the first place (despite my constant pleas) but are often mentioned on this one. These people are:
Paul, who was in the FIG after me. Along with Justin, he is the Co-Conspirator of Cool. He was also part of the Coolest Class of All Time, which is how he came to be sitting next to me while I slept through most of Apocalypse Now Redux. Paul is also responsible for teaching me how to deal drugs on a TI-86 calculator.
Julie, who was also in the FIG after me. (See a pattern here?) Julie and I were members of the Uncoolest Class of All Time (Cross-Cultural Journalism, which not even Jacqui Banaszynski—the Coolest Teacher of All Time—could save from uncoolness), where we exchanged many an eye-roll over the antics of our fellow classmates. Come to think of it, Paul was also in that class with us, and one day to illustrate diversity in magazine advertising, he brought in an ad with a robot in it, which was probably the funniest thing that ever happened in that class.
Kate, who was in my FIG. When asked to describe each other, Kate and I usually say, “She’s like me…only different.” When asked to describe us collectively, her dad says we’re “throwbacks to the Gatsby era.” Kate and I have been friends since the first day of freshman year, when Amber broke our FIG into pairs and had us tell each other our most embarrassing moments. Only I wouldn’t stop talking and flying off into a million different tangents, so when it came time for Kate to share my most embarrassing moment with the group, she couldn’t remember what it was and had to make something up.
Kristen, who was also in my FIG and is another friend from the first day of college. She’s also my drinking buddy and co-creator of the secret drinking buddy handshake (which is actually not much of a secret, since we were so proud of it that we showed it to everyone). I can take credit for introducing Kristen to the wonder that is squirt cheese, and she can take credit for introducing me to the wonder that is Moose Tracks ice cream. Last year, Kristen got married in The Most Awesome Wedding Ever. It seriously was awesome. See for yourself.
Diana, another member of my FIG and my roommate all four years of college. Through a seemingly random assignment from Res Life, Diana and I found each other and discovered that we had the same favorite color (red), dads with the same first name (Tom) and the same lifelong dream (to spend the night in a 24-hour Wal-Mart). Diana and I have been through much together, including the extremely difficult admission of our mutual admiration of Britney Spears, a battle with our crippling addiction to Monopoly and a pilgrimage to Graceland, as well as some other things that shouldn’t be mentioned in polite company.
Bri, who is one of my oldest friends. Not in terms of age (she’s probably one of my youngest friends in that respect), but in terms of knowing me the longest. Bri and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, although judging by the pictures in family photo albums, it was probably when I was about 5 and she was about 3. Technically, Bri was my sister’s friend first, because when you’re little, you tend to only be friends with people your own age. But then we got into high school and spent many, many hours together during thrift-shopping expeditions, marching band competitions and church trips to Florida. It was during these many hours that we launched most of our great ideas, including Razorblade Marshmallow, our line of cute one-piece swimwear, and clubs such as the Hamsters Against Drunk Driving (HADD), the International Federation of Playa Hatas (IFPH) and our most famous, The Saved by the Bell Preservation/Appreciation Society (SBTBP/AS), which eventually spawned The Saved by the Bell Blog.
Whew! OK, now you all know each other. I probably should have done that sooner.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Universe! Come in, universe!
OK. So obviously The Alliance has been experiencing some technical difficulties in communicating with the universe in order to control the outcome of American Idol. It's not that The Alliance isn't working--it obviously is, judging by last night's ejection of John Stevens. (To the four million of you who actually voted for him--please seek help.) It's just that The Alliance is not working with the speed and efficiency to which we had grown accustomed last year.
But let's not forget, we've been up against some pretty powerful forces, namely the dark forces of Carmen Rasmusen, which aided Camile via her Rastafarian wristband transmitter. After a long battle, the power of The Alliance was able once again to triumph over the dark forces, and Camile was eliminated from the competition. Which was good, although it did make poor John Stevens seem that much worse, and we had no choice but to turn The Alliance against him. However, because of the proliferation of "J" names this year, the universe understandably got confused, taking out Jon Peter and Jennifer before finally settling on our chosen target.
Due to the communication problems this year, I fear we must choose our next target immediately--if not, that person could very well become the next American Idol. But who to choose? It's a difficult decision. Diana's not a great singer on the slow songs, but I think she's pretty good on the more upbeat numbers. Fantasia annoys the hell out of me, but she can carry a tune. Jasmine's not spectacular, yet she's not bad enough to hate. And while I grew to love George during Elton John week, his sub-par performances in the weeks since have caused my opinion of him to take a dive.
With that in mind, I am proposing an idea that is quite revolutionary, given the history of The Alliance. I propose that we use our powers for good instead of evil, and focus all of our energies on propelling LaToya to the top spot. Because if she doesn't win this thing, I might seriously have to re-think my devotion to this show. Not to mention my American citizenship.
OK. So obviously The Alliance has been experiencing some technical difficulties in communicating with the universe in order to control the outcome of American Idol. It's not that The Alliance isn't working--it obviously is, judging by last night's ejection of John Stevens. (To the four million of you who actually voted for him--please seek help.) It's just that The Alliance is not working with the speed and efficiency to which we had grown accustomed last year.
But let's not forget, we've been up against some pretty powerful forces, namely the dark forces of Carmen Rasmusen, which aided Camile via her Rastafarian wristband transmitter. After a long battle, the power of The Alliance was able once again to triumph over the dark forces, and Camile was eliminated from the competition. Which was good, although it did make poor John Stevens seem that much worse, and we had no choice but to turn The Alliance against him. However, because of the proliferation of "J" names this year, the universe understandably got confused, taking out Jon Peter and Jennifer before finally settling on our chosen target.
Due to the communication problems this year, I fear we must choose our next target immediately--if not, that person could very well become the next American Idol. But who to choose? It's a difficult decision. Diana's not a great singer on the slow songs, but I think she's pretty good on the more upbeat numbers. Fantasia annoys the hell out of me, but she can carry a tune. Jasmine's not spectacular, yet she's not bad enough to hate. And while I grew to love George during Elton John week, his sub-par performances in the weeks since have caused my opinion of him to take a dive.
With that in mind, I am proposing an idea that is quite revolutionary, given the history of The Alliance. I propose that we use our powers for good instead of evil, and focus all of our energies on propelling LaToya to the top spot. Because if she doesn't win this thing, I might seriously have to re-think my devotion to this show. Not to mention my American citizenship.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
The Rhythm Is Gonna Get You (Unless You're John Stevens, That Is)
You know, a really fun idea occurred to me last night as the previews for 24 came on right before American Idol. Wouldn't it be great if the two shows did some sort of crossover special and completely switched casts? I don't know what I'd enjoy more: Seeing Keifer Sutherland sing "Conga," or watching Ryan Seacrest get held hostage by terrorists.
Last night on American Idol, I learned that the key to mastering Latin pop music is to wear a flouncy red dress. This is the only thing I can infer from an episode in which the only two performers who were able to do well in this genre (LaToya and Diana) were so attired. The rest of the performances ranged from mediocre (Jasmine) to downright dismal (John Stevens).
In fact, I don't think even a flouncy red dress could have helped poor John. I can see how John survived after Barry Manilow night. If ever there were an artist who was suited to John's singing style, it's probably Barry Manilow. But Gloria Estefan? Not so much. If John is able to move on in the competition after Gloria Estefan night, I really want to know who the hell is still voting for him. Seriously. If you're voting for John, let me know. Because I care about you, and you obviously need professional psychiatric help.
You know, a really fun idea occurred to me last night as the previews for 24 came on right before American Idol. Wouldn't it be great if the two shows did some sort of crossover special and completely switched casts? I don't know what I'd enjoy more: Seeing Keifer Sutherland sing "Conga," or watching Ryan Seacrest get held hostage by terrorists.
Last night on American Idol, I learned that the key to mastering Latin pop music is to wear a flouncy red dress. This is the only thing I can infer from an episode in which the only two performers who were able to do well in this genre (LaToya and Diana) were so attired. The rest of the performances ranged from mediocre (Jasmine) to downright dismal (John Stevens).
In fact, I don't think even a flouncy red dress could have helped poor John. I can see how John survived after Barry Manilow night. If ever there were an artist who was suited to John's singing style, it's probably Barry Manilow. But Gloria Estefan? Not so much. If John is able to move on in the competition after Gloria Estefan night, I really want to know who the hell is still voting for him. Seriously. If you're voting for John, let me know. Because I care about you, and you obviously need professional psychiatric help.
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
This city's drivers will be the death of me. And/or my car.
Sometimes I wonder if the city of Birmingham actually requires you to take a test before they'll issue a license. I mean, I've seen the lines of nervous 16-year-olds at the DMV. But perhaps they're just for show. Maybe what really happens is that the state trooper takes them outside to their car, gets in and says, "OK, turn on the radio and crank up the AC. We're not actually going anywhere. This is just to make those poor fools from out of state think we actually give a driving test."
This is the only plausible explanation I can think of as to why some drivers in Birmingham would possess so little knowledge of the rules of the road. Like, for instance, how when you're stopped at a stop sign and the cross traffic has no stop sign, you can't just pull up to the stop sign, stop and then immediately go without checking the traffic. Because, you know, if the cars in the lane perpendicular to you don't have a stop sign, not only are they not obligated to stop for you, they're probably not going to!
One guy who could have used this lesson happened to be driving the truck that almost careened into me yesterday afternoon (on the road to my office, no less, the site of my first unfortunate encounter with a person who was never taught the meaning of a red light/sign). Sure, I saw his wheels moving when he was behind the stop sign, but I thought he was just rolling up a little to check the traffic flow. I really didn't expect him to floor it, heading straight for me. Fortunately, he seemed to take note of me at the last minute and slammed on his brakes, and, as there were no cars in the lane beside me, I was able to swerve to the right, just barely avoiding the collision. Still, I had been given a horrifying glimpse of the grille of his truck coming full-speed toward my open window, during which I braced myself for the horrible crunch. I'm not exactly sure what happens when the front end of a truck meets your face, but I'm fairly certain I don't want to find out. Thank God I didn't have to.
After this traumatic incident, I still had to do my grocery shopping. At the store, I attempted to test out The Tyrant's patented cart-selection method. Actually it wasn't so much my wanting to try out the method as it was all of the carts except for the one in the shortest row either being filled with junk or refusing to part with the other carts in their row. But happily I remembered The Tyrant's secret to cart success as I pulled my cart from the shortest row. And what do I end up with? The cart with the gimpy wheel! And why? Because objects with wheels hate me! Obviously.
Smoothie of the Week
Last week, there was no Smoothie of the Week, not because I suddenly decided to be nice to Julie (sorry, Julie), but because I forgot to grab a smoothie recipe out of the deck before I went grocery shopping.
This week's smoothie is called Cool Hand Lime. (Paul Newman not included.) Again, this is the serving size for two people, because I still haven't really figured out how to divide 3/4 in half.
3/4 cup lowfat milk
1/2 cup fresh lime segments
3 tablespoons fresh (or bottled, I don't think it makes much difference) lime juice
3 cups nonfat vanilla yogurt
Smoothie rating: 9. Mmmmm. This smoothie tastes like a key lime milkshake, which, come to think of it, is pretty much what it is. In fact, add a splash of grenadine and some Sprite, and you'd have a cherry limeade flurry. Oh my. This could be very dangerous.
Sometimes I wonder if the city of Birmingham actually requires you to take a test before they'll issue a license. I mean, I've seen the lines of nervous 16-year-olds at the DMV. But perhaps they're just for show. Maybe what really happens is that the state trooper takes them outside to their car, gets in and says, "OK, turn on the radio and crank up the AC. We're not actually going anywhere. This is just to make those poor fools from out of state think we actually give a driving test."
This is the only plausible explanation I can think of as to why some drivers in Birmingham would possess so little knowledge of the rules of the road. Like, for instance, how when you're stopped at a stop sign and the cross traffic has no stop sign, you can't just pull up to the stop sign, stop and then immediately go without checking the traffic. Because, you know, if the cars in the lane perpendicular to you don't have a stop sign, not only are they not obligated to stop for you, they're probably not going to!
One guy who could have used this lesson happened to be driving the truck that almost careened into me yesterday afternoon (on the road to my office, no less, the site of my first unfortunate encounter with a person who was never taught the meaning of a red light/sign). Sure, I saw his wheels moving when he was behind the stop sign, but I thought he was just rolling up a little to check the traffic flow. I really didn't expect him to floor it, heading straight for me. Fortunately, he seemed to take note of me at the last minute and slammed on his brakes, and, as there were no cars in the lane beside me, I was able to swerve to the right, just barely avoiding the collision. Still, I had been given a horrifying glimpse of the grille of his truck coming full-speed toward my open window, during which I braced myself for the horrible crunch. I'm not exactly sure what happens when the front end of a truck meets your face, but I'm fairly certain I don't want to find out. Thank God I didn't have to.
After this traumatic incident, I still had to do my grocery shopping. At the store, I attempted to test out The Tyrant's patented cart-selection method. Actually it wasn't so much my wanting to try out the method as it was all of the carts except for the one in the shortest row either being filled with junk or refusing to part with the other carts in their row. But happily I remembered The Tyrant's secret to cart success as I pulled my cart from the shortest row. And what do I end up with? The cart with the gimpy wheel! And why? Because objects with wheels hate me! Obviously.
Smoothie of the Week
Last week, there was no Smoothie of the Week, not because I suddenly decided to be nice to Julie (sorry, Julie), but because I forgot to grab a smoothie recipe out of the deck before I went grocery shopping.
This week's smoothie is called Cool Hand Lime. (Paul Newman not included.) Again, this is the serving size for two people, because I still haven't really figured out how to divide 3/4 in half.
3/4 cup lowfat milk
1/2 cup fresh lime segments
3 tablespoons fresh (or bottled, I don't think it makes much difference) lime juice
3 cups nonfat vanilla yogurt
Smoothie rating: 9. Mmmmm. This smoothie tastes like a key lime milkshake, which, come to think of it, is pretty much what it is. In fact, add a splash of grenadine and some Sprite, and you'd have a cherry limeade flurry. Oh my. This could be very dangerous.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Which came first, the butter or the pickles?
Finally! The long-awaited answer to the question that I know has been driving all of you crazy for months. (And when I say "all of you," I pretty much just mean Kristin, since she's the one who brought it up in the first place.) The question of which I speak is, of course, what comes on the sandwiches at Chick-Fil-A? Is it butter pickles? Or is it butter AND pickles?
Today I have discovered the answer, my friends. And it is, much to my abject horror and fear, butter AND pickles. I discovered this today when I braved the lunch-hour traffic jam at Chick-Fil-A to cash in yet another free-sandwich coupon. This coupon was for a Chargrilled Deluxe sandwich, which, as I could plainly see by looking at the picture on the menu board, includes the more normal condiments of lettuce and tomato. However, I spied some pickles peeking out of the bottom of the pictured sandwich, so I thought I'd better ask just to be safe.
Me: "What comes on this sandwich?"
Chick-Fil-A Guy: "Lettuce, tomato, uh..." Of course, it is at this point that he starts to mumble (probably embarrassed by the grossness of his restaurant's condiment choices), so he says what I think is, "...pickles...butter pickles...and butter." Which did nothing to clear up the butter pickles vs. butter AND pickles conundrum.
Me: "I don't want any butter...pickles." (Figuring this could either mean "butter pickles" or "butter AND pickles").
Apparently, to Chick-Fil-A Guy, this just meant "no butter," since when I got my sandwich, there was a bright-orange "NO BUTTER" sticker on the carton. There was no mention of the pickles, however, which I discovered still on the sandwich. However, if something had to be left on the sandwich, I'm glad it was the pickles and not the butter, since not only do I actually like pickles (though not on chicken sandwiches), but they are also easier to remove. Plus, it cleared up once and for all the butter pickles vs. butter AND pickles debate. And now I have the "NO BUTTER" sticker on my computer at work so I can broadcast my loathing of butter to the rest of the office. Hurrah!
Finally! The long-awaited answer to the question that I know has been driving all of you crazy for months. (And when I say "all of you," I pretty much just mean Kristin, since she's the one who brought it up in the first place.) The question of which I speak is, of course, what comes on the sandwiches at Chick-Fil-A? Is it butter pickles? Or is it butter AND pickles?
Today I have discovered the answer, my friends. And it is, much to my abject horror and fear, butter AND pickles. I discovered this today when I braved the lunch-hour traffic jam at Chick-Fil-A to cash in yet another free-sandwich coupon. This coupon was for a Chargrilled Deluxe sandwich, which, as I could plainly see by looking at the picture on the menu board, includes the more normal condiments of lettuce and tomato. However, I spied some pickles peeking out of the bottom of the pictured sandwich, so I thought I'd better ask just to be safe.
Me: "What comes on this sandwich?"
Chick-Fil-A Guy: "Lettuce, tomato, uh..." Of course, it is at this point that he starts to mumble (probably embarrassed by the grossness of his restaurant's condiment choices), so he says what I think is, "...pickles...butter pickles...and butter." Which did nothing to clear up the butter pickles vs. butter AND pickles conundrum.
Me: "I don't want any butter...pickles." (Figuring this could either mean "butter pickles" or "butter AND pickles").
Apparently, to Chick-Fil-A Guy, this just meant "no butter," since when I got my sandwich, there was a bright-orange "NO BUTTER" sticker on the carton. There was no mention of the pickles, however, which I discovered still on the sandwich. However, if something had to be left on the sandwich, I'm glad it was the pickles and not the butter, since not only do I actually like pickles (though not on chicken sandwiches), but they are also easier to remove. Plus, it cleared up once and for all the butter pickles vs. butter AND pickles debate. And now I have the "NO BUTTER" sticker on my computer at work so I can broadcast my loathing of butter to the rest of the office. Hurrah!
Shock and awe
Friday night, I was finally able to watch my tape of Wednesday-night shows, including the shocking American Idol results show in which Jennifer Hudson was voted off. The fact that I knew Jennifer would be voted off made the show no less shocking. It did, however, make the little trick Ryan played on George seem all that more vile and annoying. Then again, it seems like it would have been vile and annoying in any light, so scratch that.
I must say, I really applaud what the Bush administration is doing to fight terrorism. It's an innovative approach, really. They hire a cheesy songwriter to write some sappy, vaguely patriotic song, then have the American Idol finalists sing a toneless rendition of it, complete with ridiculous choreography, over and over and over until finally the terrorists flee America, screaming, "I can't take it anymore! I surrender! Just please don't make me listen to that song again!" The only flaw I see in this plan is that they may soon drive out some of their fellow Americans as well.
Friday night, I was finally able to watch my tape of Wednesday-night shows, including the shocking American Idol results show in which Jennifer Hudson was voted off. The fact that I knew Jennifer would be voted off made the show no less shocking. It did, however, make the little trick Ryan played on George seem all that more vile and annoying. Then again, it seems like it would have been vile and annoying in any light, so scratch that.
I must say, I really applaud what the Bush administration is doing to fight terrorism. It's an innovative approach, really. They hire a cheesy songwriter to write some sappy, vaguely patriotic song, then have the American Idol finalists sing a toneless rendition of it, complete with ridiculous choreography, over and over and over until finally the terrorists flee America, screaming, "I can't take it anymore! I surrender! Just please don't make me listen to that song again!" The only flaw I see in this plan is that they may soon drive out some of their fellow Americans as well.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Aaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh!
In the spirit of Kristin's recent rant and in honor of the foul mood I seem to be in for no particular reason, I thought I'd take this time to elaborate on some of the things in life that really annoy me. Like:
-People who stand on the moving sidewalks in airports. This might be my number-one pet peeve of all time. It's certainly one that I've mentioned here before. Look, everyone. Consider this your public service announcement. The airport? Not Disneyland. The moving sidewalk? NOT A RIDE. Moving sidewalks were designed to help travelers (especially those with tight connections) move through airports more quickly, not so your lazy ass can enjoy a little relief from the incredibly taxing act of walking. However, if you insist on making the moving sidewalk your own personal version of "It's a Small World After All," please abide by the posted signs and stay to one side of the walkway. Also, please keep hands, feet and other objects inside the ride, and do not attempt to touch the angry business traveler careening past you as she attempts to make it from one side of the airport to the other in 5 minutes.
-Follow-up calls from PR people. OK, PR people of the world. I know it's part of your job that you have to call me and find out if I've received such-and-such release and ask if I think it's a fit for the magazine and ask if I'm planning on running it. But when I've already told you that I don't really think it's a fit but we'll keep it on file just in case, and if we do use it, I'll let you know, do you really have to call me back the very next week (and the week after that and the week after that) and ask me the same questions all over again? I think not. So stop it!
-People who name their children "trendy" names. Most of these names are vaguely masculine-sounding names have been all cuted up and given to little girls. "McKenzie" is a prime example (as is its even more loathsome spinoff, "McKenna"). I don't know how this whole McKenzie trend got started, but I'd imagine it was probably by someone who named their daughter McKenzie after some family name (in which context the name is somewhat acceptable), and then someone else heard the name and thought it was just so adorable, and then it caught on like wildfire. Personally, it frightens me that in 30 or 40 years, the entire country could be run by people named McKenzie.
Ah, I feel much better now. My apologies to all PR professionals named McKenzie who stand on the moving sidewalk.
In the spirit of Kristin's recent rant and in honor of the foul mood I seem to be in for no particular reason, I thought I'd take this time to elaborate on some of the things in life that really annoy me. Like:
-People who stand on the moving sidewalks in airports. This might be my number-one pet peeve of all time. It's certainly one that I've mentioned here before. Look, everyone. Consider this your public service announcement. The airport? Not Disneyland. The moving sidewalk? NOT A RIDE. Moving sidewalks were designed to help travelers (especially those with tight connections) move through airports more quickly, not so your lazy ass can enjoy a little relief from the incredibly taxing act of walking. However, if you insist on making the moving sidewalk your own personal version of "It's a Small World After All," please abide by the posted signs and stay to one side of the walkway. Also, please keep hands, feet and other objects inside the ride, and do not attempt to touch the angry business traveler careening past you as she attempts to make it from one side of the airport to the other in 5 minutes.
-Follow-up calls from PR people. OK, PR people of the world. I know it's part of your job that you have to call me and find out if I've received such-and-such release and ask if I think it's a fit for the magazine and ask if I'm planning on running it. But when I've already told you that I don't really think it's a fit but we'll keep it on file just in case, and if we do use it, I'll let you know, do you really have to call me back the very next week (and the week after that and the week after that) and ask me the same questions all over again? I think not. So stop it!
-People who name their children "trendy" names. Most of these names are vaguely masculine-sounding names have been all cuted up and given to little girls. "McKenzie" is a prime example (as is its even more loathsome spinoff, "McKenna"). I don't know how this whole McKenzie trend got started, but I'd imagine it was probably by someone who named their daughter McKenzie after some family name (in which context the name is somewhat acceptable), and then someone else heard the name and thought it was just so adorable, and then it caught on like wildfire. Personally, it frightens me that in 30 or 40 years, the entire country could be run by people named McKenzie.
Ah, I feel much better now. My apologies to all PR professionals named McKenzie who stand on the moving sidewalk.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
His name was Seacrest, he was a fame whore
Oh, American Idol producers! What are you trying to do to me? Barry Manilow night? It's like you want me to mock you.
Thankfully, no one screwed up my favorite Barry Manilow song ("Copa Cabana") last night. I can't believe I actually just admitted that I have a favorite Barry Manilow song. But in all fairness, until last night, it was the only Barry Manilow song I knew. Well, that's not technically true. I did know "Mandy," but only because it was in Can't Hardly Wait. Oh God, now I've just admitted to knowing a Barry Manilow song only because it was prominently featured in a Jennifer Love Hewitt movie. Will this vicious cycle of shame never end?
Hey, speaking of vicious cycles of shame...Ryan Seacrest appears to be taking some baby steps on the long, slow journey out of the closet. Is it just me, or is he sounding more and more resigned each time he treats us to another "Seacrest out"? Combined with his unabashed on-air flirtation with Simon, I can only read it as a desperate attempt to free himself from the lie he's been living (not all that well, frankly) and fully embrace his complete and utter homosexuality at last. Will this year's finale feature a skit of Simon making out with Ryan? Uh...I hope not, although it would be better than having to see Simon's awkward kiss with Paula again. It would also be much, much better than seeing him make out with Randy.
After weeks of begging and pleading on the part of The Alliance, America might finally be relieved of John Stevens tonight. Last night, John received the kiss of death when Simon compared him to Laurel from Laurel & Hardy. We all know what happened the last time Simon compared one of the contestants to a famous comedian. I'm just saying.
Totally unrelated: Pictures from D.C. are now up. Apologies for the delay.
Oh, American Idol producers! What are you trying to do to me? Barry Manilow night? It's like you want me to mock you.
Thankfully, no one screwed up my favorite Barry Manilow song ("Copa Cabana") last night. I can't believe I actually just admitted that I have a favorite Barry Manilow song. But in all fairness, until last night, it was the only Barry Manilow song I knew. Well, that's not technically true. I did know "Mandy," but only because it was in Can't Hardly Wait. Oh God, now I've just admitted to knowing a Barry Manilow song only because it was prominently featured in a Jennifer Love Hewitt movie. Will this vicious cycle of shame never end?
Hey, speaking of vicious cycles of shame...Ryan Seacrest appears to be taking some baby steps on the long, slow journey out of the closet. Is it just me, or is he sounding more and more resigned each time he treats us to another "Seacrest out"? Combined with his unabashed on-air flirtation with Simon, I can only read it as a desperate attempt to free himself from the lie he's been living (not all that well, frankly) and fully embrace his complete and utter homosexuality at last. Will this year's finale feature a skit of Simon making out with Ryan? Uh...I hope not, although it would be better than having to see Simon's awkward kiss with Paula again. It would also be much, much better than seeing him make out with Randy.
After weeks of begging and pleading on the part of The Alliance, America might finally be relieved of John Stevens tonight. Last night, John received the kiss of death when Simon compared him to Laurel from Laurel & Hardy. We all know what happened the last time Simon compared one of the contestants to a famous comedian. I'm just saying.
Totally unrelated: Pictures from D.C. are now up. Apologies for the delay.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Proof
So. As Dave has already reported, I did not see Delaware. (Nor did I see Omarosa, Chase, although I do believe she exists. You just can't make up someone like that.) Indeed, the force of the conspiracy proved to be too strong for me to resist. Even Dave, who claims he really, really wanted to take me to Delaware, proved himself to be part of the conspiracy when he greeted Diana and me with, "Well, I can see that I've lost." What kind of fight is this, I ask you, from someone who only moments before was determined to prove the existence of Delaware? Obviously Dave's Delaware frenzy was some sort of experiment in reverse psychology--one that worked all too well. This is one tricky conspiracy indeed.
However, my tour guides (possibly disoriented and exhausted by me repeatedly asking "What's that building?" in the manner of a three-year-old) did let one piece of information leak out. I may not have seen Delaware, but I did see the building that houses the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy. Sure, Diana and Dave tried to pretend that they had no idea what the building was (they did that a lot, actually--I wonder if there are more fabricated states Washington is trying to cover up), but I figured it out. Not only were my tour guides unwilling to tell me the name of the building, it was not even listed on the helpful maps posted all along the Mall area. In a district where pretty much every building is of some importance (except for the makeshift tents--thank you, tour guides), it seems highly suspect to me that this building would be completely left off the map. One can only reason, then, that this would be the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy. I know what you're thinking--I am like the Bob Woodward of the Delaware conspiracy.
In addition to the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy, I saw lots of other things, including a video of a fish sucking up a worm in slow motion and from several different angles (about which I remarked, "It's like the Zapruder film, only with a fish and a worm"), an awesome climbing tree on the White House lawn where I decided I would hold cabinet meetings if I were President (which caused Dave to remark, "Mental note: Do not elect Clare"), as well as a fountain that I decided would be a good place to hold cabinet meetings on pool floats when it became too hot to sit in the tree, and the reflecting pool, which I decided I would run through in the manner of Forrest Gump if I saw George Clooney on the other side. I also saw some of the more traditional DC sites, such as the Lincoln Memorial (and Lincoln Memorial bathrooms--thank you, Dave), the Capitol and Arlington National Cemetery.
I have pictures of some of these things (but sadly, not of the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy, as I did not realize this is what it was until after we had already passed it), but due to my computer sucking, they won't be ready until tomorrow. So be patient (this means you, Heather).
So. As Dave has already reported, I did not see Delaware. (Nor did I see Omarosa, Chase, although I do believe she exists. You just can't make up someone like that.) Indeed, the force of the conspiracy proved to be too strong for me to resist. Even Dave, who claims he really, really wanted to take me to Delaware, proved himself to be part of the conspiracy when he greeted Diana and me with, "Well, I can see that I've lost." What kind of fight is this, I ask you, from someone who only moments before was determined to prove the existence of Delaware? Obviously Dave's Delaware frenzy was some sort of experiment in reverse psychology--one that worked all too well. This is one tricky conspiracy indeed.
However, my tour guides (possibly disoriented and exhausted by me repeatedly asking "What's that building?" in the manner of a three-year-old) did let one piece of information leak out. I may not have seen Delaware, but I did see the building that houses the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy. Sure, Diana and Dave tried to pretend that they had no idea what the building was (they did that a lot, actually--I wonder if there are more fabricated states Washington is trying to cover up), but I figured it out. Not only were my tour guides unwilling to tell me the name of the building, it was not even listed on the helpful maps posted all along the Mall area. In a district where pretty much every building is of some importance (except for the makeshift tents--thank you, tour guides), it seems highly suspect to me that this building would be completely left off the map. One can only reason, then, that this would be the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy. I know what you're thinking--I am like the Bob Woodward of the Delaware conspiracy.
In addition to the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy, I saw lots of other things, including a video of a fish sucking up a worm in slow motion and from several different angles (about which I remarked, "It's like the Zapruder film, only with a fish and a worm"), an awesome climbing tree on the White House lawn where I decided I would hold cabinet meetings if I were President (which caused Dave to remark, "Mental note: Do not elect Clare"), as well as a fountain that I decided would be a good place to hold cabinet meetings on pool floats when it became too hot to sit in the tree, and the reflecting pool, which I decided I would run through in the manner of Forrest Gump if I saw George Clooney on the other side. I also saw some of the more traditional DC sites, such as the Lincoln Memorial (and Lincoln Memorial bathrooms--thank you, Dave), the Capitol and Arlington National Cemetery.
I have pictures of some of these things (but sadly, not of the Center for the Delaware Conspiracy, as I did not realize this is what it was until after we had already passed it), but due to my computer sucking, they won't be ready until tomorrow. So be patient (this means you, Heather).
Sunday, April 18, 2004
The conspiracy thickens
This weekend, I am in D.C. visiting my former roomie, Diana. While in D.C., it was my intent to accompany Dave to this purported "Delaware" so he can prove to me that it does actually exist. I have to be back in Norfolk tomorrow, so the plan was for Dave and I to go to Delaware this afternoon.
But it seems I underestimated the power of the conspiracy, as well as the fact that my dear roommate is now part of it. Diana developed quite the elaborate plan to keep me from going to Delaware, keeping me up until all hours of the night so I would be too tired to go to anywhere the next day. She did this by:
a) Taking me out and bringing some of her D.C. friends (also part of the conspiracy, obviously) along to ply me with beer,
b) Arranging for a funny and interesting Czechoslovakian architect to chat us up so we would want to stay out later talking to him,
c) Getting "lost" on the way home, thereby delaying what was at that point much-needed sleep, and
d) Driving me past a bunch of really impressive monuments and stuff on the theory that it would make me want to stay longer in D.C.
In addition, Diana (and the Czechoslovakian architect) repeatedly questioned me about why I wanted to go to Delaware and seemed quite unsatisfied with the answer I gave. (The reason is twofold: 1) To see for myself if Delaware does in fact exist, and 2) If it does exist, to cross it off my list of states I have to visit by the time I'm 30.)
I find it very strange that everyone in D.C. insists that Delaware exists while at the same time insisting that I don't want to go there. If that's not proof of some sort of massive cover-up, I don't know what is. I will get to the bottom of this! Stay tuned, dear readers, for more on this puzzling mystery.
This weekend, I am in D.C. visiting my former roomie, Diana. While in D.C., it was my intent to accompany Dave to this purported "Delaware" so he can prove to me that it does actually exist. I have to be back in Norfolk tomorrow, so the plan was for Dave and I to go to Delaware this afternoon.
But it seems I underestimated the power of the conspiracy, as well as the fact that my dear roommate is now part of it. Diana developed quite the elaborate plan to keep me from going to Delaware, keeping me up until all hours of the night so I would be too tired to go to anywhere the next day. She did this by:
a) Taking me out and bringing some of her D.C. friends (also part of the conspiracy, obviously) along to ply me with beer,
b) Arranging for a funny and interesting Czechoslovakian architect to chat us up so we would want to stay out later talking to him,
c) Getting "lost" on the way home, thereby delaying what was at that point much-needed sleep, and
d) Driving me past a bunch of really impressive monuments and stuff on the theory that it would make me want to stay longer in D.C.
In addition, Diana (and the Czechoslovakian architect) repeatedly questioned me about why I wanted to go to Delaware and seemed quite unsatisfied with the answer I gave. (The reason is twofold: 1) To see for myself if Delaware does in fact exist, and 2) If it does exist, to cross it off my list of states I have to visit by the time I'm 30.)
I find it very strange that everyone in D.C. insists that Delaware exists while at the same time insisting that I don't want to go there. If that's not proof of some sort of massive cover-up, I don't know what is. I will get to the bottom of this! Stay tuned, dear readers, for more on this puzzling mystery.
Friday, April 16, 2004
This one goes out to the one I love
You know, after a reality-television extravaganza like we had last night, I could very easily take this time to write about all the people I hate. Like Omarosa for being a blatant liar and just a general nutjob. Or Heidi for being such a whore. Or Ryan Seacrest for being...well, Ryan Seacrest. But that could take hours. So instead, I'm going to talk about the people I love.
Jon Peter Lewis. I can't explain it. I love his "dancing." I love him for refusing to hold Diana DeGarmo's hand like some pageant contestant during the elimination. I love him for dancing with his dad during his final American Idol performance. I do not love, however, all the hussies that were also trying to dance with him as he made his way through the audience. Back off, hussies! He's my reality-TV boyfriend! Plus, he has like 10 brothers. There are plenty of them to go around.
Jason Priestley. I know you all thought he was in the American Idol audience last night to promote Tru Calling. But oh, how wrong you are! The truth of the matter is that Jason became mesmerized with me after seeing me in the audience of a play he did in London four years ago. (You can ask Heather and Hannah--he was staring at me the whole time!) Knowing that American Idol is one of my favorite shows, Jason wanted to reach out to me again by making a guest appearance. Wasn't that sweet?
Bill Rancic and Kwame Jackson. The Donald might have had to choose between them, but I don't. I love both Bill and Kwame, for different reasons. I love Kwame because every time I saw him in his power suit, I was reminded of his story last week about how his grandfather signed his name with an X. It is the American dream brought to life, as he pointed out, and it brings a tear to my eye. Plus, he's just so darn cute! Then there's Bill (who is also pretty darn cute). I love Bill because he's just like me. Some people call his style "micromanaging," but I call it staying on top of things. As I said last week, I think it's just naive to just expect every single person who works for you to do his or her job competently--particularly when you have no prior experience with them as an employee. While some people might disagree with this style (ahem, Amy and Katrina, who I won't go off on because I promised not to talk about people I hate), it's ultimately what won Bill the job.
The Donald. Yes, you read that right. I freaking love Donald Trump. He's a camp classic. I mean, the man refers to himself as "The Donald," for heaven's sake! How can you not love that? Although I will say, I was disappointed that he didn't go for the obvious jab when he handed Bill the keys to his new Chrysler Crossfire. There was a pause there in which I thought he was setting up for what would have been an awesome punchline ("By the way, it's just a rental"), but instead he started thanking George Steinbrenner for...uh, doing the show before him or something like that. What the hell does that even mean? Is that a Seinfeld reference? That whole exchange made me love The Donald a little less. But I have no doubt that Miss Alli will pick up the joke on the recap. Why? Because I freaking love her, too.
You know, after a reality-television extravaganza like we had last night, I could very easily take this time to write about all the people I hate. Like Omarosa for being a blatant liar and just a general nutjob. Or Heidi for being such a whore. Or Ryan Seacrest for being...well, Ryan Seacrest. But that could take hours. So instead, I'm going to talk about the people I love.
Jon Peter Lewis. I can't explain it. I love his "dancing." I love him for refusing to hold Diana DeGarmo's hand like some pageant contestant during the elimination. I love him for dancing with his dad during his final American Idol performance. I do not love, however, all the hussies that were also trying to dance with him as he made his way through the audience. Back off, hussies! He's my reality-TV boyfriend! Plus, he has like 10 brothers. There are plenty of them to go around.
Jason Priestley. I know you all thought he was in the American Idol audience last night to promote Tru Calling. But oh, how wrong you are! The truth of the matter is that Jason became mesmerized with me after seeing me in the audience of a play he did in London four years ago. (You can ask Heather and Hannah--he was staring at me the whole time!) Knowing that American Idol is one of my favorite shows, Jason wanted to reach out to me again by making a guest appearance. Wasn't that sweet?
Bill Rancic and Kwame Jackson. The Donald might have had to choose between them, but I don't. I love both Bill and Kwame, for different reasons. I love Kwame because every time I saw him in his power suit, I was reminded of his story last week about how his grandfather signed his name with an X. It is the American dream brought to life, as he pointed out, and it brings a tear to my eye. Plus, he's just so darn cute! Then there's Bill (who is also pretty darn cute). I love Bill because he's just like me. Some people call his style "micromanaging," but I call it staying on top of things. As I said last week, I think it's just naive to just expect every single person who works for you to do his or her job competently--particularly when you have no prior experience with them as an employee. While some people might disagree with this style (ahem, Amy and Katrina, who I won't go off on because I promised not to talk about people I hate), it's ultimately what won Bill the job.
The Donald. Yes, you read that right. I freaking love Donald Trump. He's a camp classic. I mean, the man refers to himself as "The Donald," for heaven's sake! How can you not love that? Although I will say, I was disappointed that he didn't go for the obvious jab when he handed Bill the keys to his new Chrysler Crossfire. There was a pause there in which I thought he was setting up for what would have been an awesome punchline ("By the way, it's just a rental"), but instead he started thanking George Steinbrenner for...uh, doing the show before him or something like that. What the hell does that even mean? Is that a Seinfeld reference? That whole exchange made me love The Donald a little less. But I have no doubt that Miss Alli will pick up the joke on the recap. Why? Because I freaking love her, too.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
It makes me feel like Scott Collins
Actually, the fact that I even have a crush on a local TV news reporter already made me feel like Scott. So when I was out walking in my neighborhood yesterday and spotted him setting up for a live shot and got all fluttery and starstruck, it was really just icing on the feeling-like-Scott cake. Unfortunately, the object of my affection was talking on his cell phone as I walked by and failed to notice my blatant staring. The cameraman, however, did notice, and said, "Come on, you know you want to be on TV!" As I was in my workout clothes, I refused his offer, thus giving up the chance to meet my crush. Why am I so stupid?
I returned from my walk a few minutes after American Idol had started, so I missed the explanation of what qualifications Quentin Tarantino has for being a guest judge, other than the fact that he has the potential to say something really off-the-wall crazy and the fact that he has a movie coming out this weekend. Apparently, I also missed the explanation of why he was wearing a pastel striped shirt and a pooka-shell necklace.
Overall, I was disappointed with the Tarantino guest spot. He didn't say anything really mean and crazy, and more importantly, he didn't spit on Ryan Seacrest (as I had hoped), even when Ryan heralded the much-chagrined return of "Seacrest out!" Tarantino, man, what happened to you?
Actually, the fact that I even have a crush on a local TV news reporter already made me feel like Scott. So when I was out walking in my neighborhood yesterday and spotted him setting up for a live shot and got all fluttery and starstruck, it was really just icing on the feeling-like-Scott cake. Unfortunately, the object of my affection was talking on his cell phone as I walked by and failed to notice my blatant staring. The cameraman, however, did notice, and said, "Come on, you know you want to be on TV!" As I was in my workout clothes, I refused his offer, thus giving up the chance to meet my crush. Why am I so stupid?
I returned from my walk a few minutes after American Idol had started, so I missed the explanation of what qualifications Quentin Tarantino has for being a guest judge, other than the fact that he has the potential to say something really off-the-wall crazy and the fact that he has a movie coming out this weekend. Apparently, I also missed the explanation of why he was wearing a pastel striped shirt and a pooka-shell necklace.
Overall, I was disappointed with the Tarantino guest spot. He didn't say anything really mean and crazy, and more importantly, he didn't spit on Ryan Seacrest (as I had hoped), even when Ryan heralded the much-chagrined return of "Seacrest out!" Tarantino, man, what happened to you?
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
What happened to "stewardess?"
I just saw an ad on MSN for a personals service with the pitch "Date a Model or Aerobics Instructor or Massage Therapist or Bio Chemist or Ad Executive." OK, seriously. What the hell? Obviously, I can see where model, aerobics instructor and massage therapist would all be professions with certain classic male-fantasy elements attached to them. But bio chemist? Do men fantasize about bio chemists? Actually, that's not the one that's most difficult for me to believe, since it's conceivable that bio chemists could be the 20th century equivalent to the age-old librarian fantasy. The one that really threw me for a loop was "ad executive." What's the big fantasy there? They make lots of money? They have a glamorous job on Madison Avenue? They wear really pointy designer shoes? I just don't get it.
Even more baffling is why "trade magazine editor" was left off the list. Now that's a hot profession.
I just saw an ad on MSN for a personals service with the pitch "Date a Model or Aerobics Instructor or Massage Therapist or Bio Chemist or Ad Executive." OK, seriously. What the hell? Obviously, I can see where model, aerobics instructor and massage therapist would all be professions with certain classic male-fantasy elements attached to them. But bio chemist? Do men fantasize about bio chemists? Actually, that's not the one that's most difficult for me to believe, since it's conceivable that bio chemists could be the 20th century equivalent to the age-old librarian fantasy. The one that really threw me for a loop was "ad executive." What's the big fantasy there? They make lots of money? They have a glamorous job on Madison Avenue? They wear really pointy designer shoes? I just don't get it.
Even more baffling is why "trade magazine editor" was left off the list. Now that's a hot profession.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Sorry, Julie
Some of you might remember last year when I embarked on a Smoothie of the Week mission and chronicled it here on the blog (which I had to stop after the first installment because it was making Julie physically ill). I didn't think this would be a problem (after all, with American Idol in full swing, I had plenty to blog about) until I found myself once again in my smoothie phase this year and unable to remember which smoothies I had made last year as Smoothies of the Week. Hence, Smoothie of the Week is back! Julie, if you're reading this, now would be a good time to stop.
For the inaugural 2004 Smoothie of the Week, I chose one that I can't remember having made before but always wanted to. The name of it is Razzy Star--Mazzy Star being a favorite band of one of the Smoothies Deck authors. I chose this smoothie because a) I love raspberries, and b) It reminded me of a dream I had last week in which my friend Danielle had free tickets to a Mazzy Star concert, but I had to be out of town and couldn't go. I was really disappointed until I woke up and remembered that Mazzy Star had broken up. Actually, this exact same thing happened in real life, only the band she had tickets to was Azure Ray, who are not Mazzy Star but sound a lot like Mazzy Star. Weird.
Anyway. The recipe. Because I'm bad at math (Seriously, what is half of 3/4? Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's not on my measuring cup anyway.), this is the recipe for two servings instead of one. If you're bad at math, too, you can do what I do and sort of guess at the measurements. It usually works out fine. (This is why I stick to making smoothies and do not perform brain surgery.)
3/4 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup milk (or heavy cream, if you want a thicker smoothie)
1 cup fresh raspberries (can be frozen, but I like them not frozen)
1 cup raspberry sorbet
Smoothie rating: 6. A nice smoothie--creamy yet light--but it's disconcertingly reminiscent of those new-fangled bottled yogurt smoothie drinks. I am totally against the new-fangled bottled yogurt smoothie drinks, in case you were wondering. Nothing can take the place of a fresh, homeade smoothie, especially one from the Smoothies Deck.
In non-smoothie-related news (come back, Julie!), what is up with all these people from Missouri named Shandi suddenly popping up everywhere?
Some of you might remember last year when I embarked on a Smoothie of the Week mission and chronicled it here on the blog (which I had to stop after the first installment because it was making Julie physically ill). I didn't think this would be a problem (after all, with American Idol in full swing, I had plenty to blog about) until I found myself once again in my smoothie phase this year and unable to remember which smoothies I had made last year as Smoothies of the Week. Hence, Smoothie of the Week is back! Julie, if you're reading this, now would be a good time to stop.
For the inaugural 2004 Smoothie of the Week, I chose one that I can't remember having made before but always wanted to. The name of it is Razzy Star--Mazzy Star being a favorite band of one of the Smoothies Deck authors. I chose this smoothie because a) I love raspberries, and b) It reminded me of a dream I had last week in which my friend Danielle had free tickets to a Mazzy Star concert, but I had to be out of town and couldn't go. I was really disappointed until I woke up and remembered that Mazzy Star had broken up. Actually, this exact same thing happened in real life, only the band she had tickets to was Azure Ray, who are not Mazzy Star but sound a lot like Mazzy Star. Weird.
Anyway. The recipe. Because I'm bad at math (Seriously, what is half of 3/4? Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's not on my measuring cup anyway.), this is the recipe for two servings instead of one. If you're bad at math, too, you can do what I do and sort of guess at the measurements. It usually works out fine. (This is why I stick to making smoothies and do not perform brain surgery.)
3/4 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup milk (or heavy cream, if you want a thicker smoothie)
1 cup fresh raspberries (can be frozen, but I like them not frozen)
1 cup raspberry sorbet
Smoothie rating: 6. A nice smoothie--creamy yet light--but it's disconcertingly reminiscent of those new-fangled bottled yogurt smoothie drinks. I am totally against the new-fangled bottled yogurt smoothie drinks, in case you were wondering. Nothing can take the place of a fresh, homeade smoothie, especially one from the Smoothies Deck.
In non-smoothie-related news (come back, Julie!), what is up with all these people from Missouri named Shandi suddenly popping up everywhere?
Monday, April 12, 2004
As if you needed another excuse to blow off work...
In the continuing effort to make my blog more interactive (or more like Rob's, depending on how you want to look at it), I've added photos! Or links to photos at least, because I don't know how to add actual photos on this page. Anyway. Last Thursday, I went to Target and blew all of my birthday money and a good chunk of my non-birthday money on a digital camera. (So much for the DVD player...and man whore.) The new link you'll notice on your left will direct you to the photographic results of my first weekend with the digital camera. (My dog was coerced into being my guinea pig and, as you can see, was none too happy about it.)
In the continuing effort to make my blog more interactive (or more like Rob's, depending on how you want to look at it), I've added photos! Or links to photos at least, because I don't know how to add actual photos on this page. Anyway. Last Thursday, I went to Target and blew all of my birthday money and a good chunk of my non-birthday money on a digital camera. (So much for the DVD player...and man whore.) The new link you'll notice on your left will direct you to the photographic results of my first weekend with the digital camera. (My dog was coerced into being my guinea pig and, as you can see, was none too happy about it.)
Saturday, April 10, 2004
I'm in love. His name is Jordan Catalano.
Just as Kristin has gotten me all excited about My So-Called Life again, I come home and find that they're re-playing the series on Nogin (presumably so a whole new generation can fall in love with the show much, much too late). Needless to say, I was beside myself with excitement. Unfortunately, they're only playing one new episode per weekend, and I have to go back to my cable-free existence tomorrow. Boo!
This weekend, the episode they showed was the one with Rickie and the gun and the rumor about Angela and Jordan having sex. Initially I was disappointed because this episode isn't one of my favorites. But I soon realized that it's the one with my favorite Angela quote from the whole series ("It's such a lie that you should do what's in your heart. If we all did what was in our hearts, the world would grind to a halt."), which I actually wrote in the cover of one of my notebooks. It also contains what I felt were some of the more poignant truths of the show, like Rayanne's mom's explanation of how some people are in black and white and some people are in color, and Angela's observation of how sometimes something bad has to happen to show you how you really feel about a person. Plus, there was that delicious scene in the hallway where Jordan is whispering to Angela about the rumor. Mmmm…Jordan.
There was one thing that bothered me while watching the show again for the first time since high school. Did we really used to dress like that? We did, I know, because I actually bought a plaid babydoll dress specifically because it looked like something Angela Chase would wear. My mom would never let me wear it with boots, though, like Angela did. She wouldn't let me dye my hair red, either. My mom was so Patty Chase.
Just as Kristin has gotten me all excited about My So-Called Life again, I come home and find that they're re-playing the series on Nogin (presumably so a whole new generation can fall in love with the show much, much too late). Needless to say, I was beside myself with excitement. Unfortunately, they're only playing one new episode per weekend, and I have to go back to my cable-free existence tomorrow. Boo!
This weekend, the episode they showed was the one with Rickie and the gun and the rumor about Angela and Jordan having sex. Initially I was disappointed because this episode isn't one of my favorites. But I soon realized that it's the one with my favorite Angela quote from the whole series ("It's such a lie that you should do what's in your heart. If we all did what was in our hearts, the world would grind to a halt."), which I actually wrote in the cover of one of my notebooks. It also contains what I felt were some of the more poignant truths of the show, like Rayanne's mom's explanation of how some people are in black and white and some people are in color, and Angela's observation of how sometimes something bad has to happen to show you how you really feel about a person. Plus, there was that delicious scene in the hallway where Jordan is whispering to Angela about the rumor. Mmmm…Jordan.
There was one thing that bothered me while watching the show again for the first time since high school. Did we really used to dress like that? We did, I know, because I actually bought a plaid babydoll dress specifically because it looked like something Angela Chase would wear. My mom would never let me wear it with boots, though, like Angela did. She wouldn't let me dye my hair red, either. My mom was so Patty Chase.
Friday, April 09, 2004
I might actually be right this time
If Kwame is somehow able to pull off a victory and win The Apprentice next week, my hat will go off to him. But considering it's not even technically crunch time yet and his team has already lost Jessica Simpson (unsurprisingly, through the fault of Assorama, who keeps referring to Jessica Simpson as a "rock star," suggesting she might not even know who Jessica Simpson is in addition to where she is), things aren't looking good for poor Kwame. And I'm pretty sure it's not just a trick of editing this time. Losing Jessica Simpson is definitely not a good thing, no matter how you edit it. I'm sure the Tyrant would agree.
Besides the loss of Jessica Simpson, there were other small clues in this episode that would suggest The Donald is already favoring Bill. For instance, he gave Bill the chance to pick first when choosing teams, thereby tipping the scales in his favor. No one in their right mind would choose Assorama, Heidi or Katrina right off the bat, so whoever picked first was pretty much guaranteed two of the top three players (Amy, Nick and Troy).
Plus, there was Kwame's interview in which he said he'd only ever worked with competent people, so when he asked someone to do something, he expected them to get it done. This interview alone suggests that Kwame doesn't have the real-world experience needed to run a company. In fact, if that's his view, never mind working for Trump--he wouldn't last a week in my job!
Mark my words: Bill's got it in the bag.
If Kwame is somehow able to pull off a victory and win The Apprentice next week, my hat will go off to him. But considering it's not even technically crunch time yet and his team has already lost Jessica Simpson (unsurprisingly, through the fault of Assorama, who keeps referring to Jessica Simpson as a "rock star," suggesting she might not even know who Jessica Simpson is in addition to where she is), things aren't looking good for poor Kwame. And I'm pretty sure it's not just a trick of editing this time. Losing Jessica Simpson is definitely not a good thing, no matter how you edit it. I'm sure the Tyrant would agree.
Besides the loss of Jessica Simpson, there were other small clues in this episode that would suggest The Donald is already favoring Bill. For instance, he gave Bill the chance to pick first when choosing teams, thereby tipping the scales in his favor. No one in their right mind would choose Assorama, Heidi or Katrina right off the bat, so whoever picked first was pretty much guaranteed two of the top three players (Amy, Nick and Troy).
Plus, there was Kwame's interview in which he said he'd only ever worked with competent people, so when he asked someone to do something, he expected them to get it done. This interview alone suggests that Kwame doesn't have the real-world experience needed to run a company. In fact, if that's his view, never mind working for Trump--he wouldn't last a week in my job!
Mark my words: Bill's got it in the bag.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
There is a God
Not only was Camile Velasco finally booted off American Idol (and not a moment too soon, judging by last night's horrendous hairstyle and the apparent multiplying power of the Rastafarian wristband), but Ryan Seacrest finally stopped saying "Seacrest, out!" The Alliance is back, baby, and better than ever! Watch out, John Stevens.
This might actually have been The Most Dramatic. Rose Ceremony. Ever.
I said I wasn't going to do it, but I did. Despite my gallant plans to cut myself off after a somewhat bland season of The Bachelorette, I caved to willpower and watched the season premiere of the new Bachelor. In my defense, the only other thing on was The Swan, and I do have to hold myself to some standards. And besides, someone has to keep an eye on Kristen's husband!
I was surprised to find that the first episode actually exceeded my expectations (which, granted, were pretty low to begin with, but still). Jaso--er, Jesse said the wrong name at the rose ceremony and had to rescind his final rose. (But he did take Chris Harrison's mealy-mouthed suggestion to let the rejected girl stay anyway...and she accepted! If it were me, I totally would have said, "I don't need a pity rose!" and stormed off. But this is why I'm not on the show.) Plus, this season, there's a spy! And a stalker! This could be--dare I say it?--interesting. Too bad I'll have to miss most of it while battling my crippling addiction to The O.C.
Not only was Camile Velasco finally booted off American Idol (and not a moment too soon, judging by last night's horrendous hairstyle and the apparent multiplying power of the Rastafarian wristband), but Ryan Seacrest finally stopped saying "Seacrest, out!" The Alliance is back, baby, and better than ever! Watch out, John Stevens.
This might actually have been The Most Dramatic. Rose Ceremony. Ever.
I said I wasn't going to do it, but I did. Despite my gallant plans to cut myself off after a somewhat bland season of The Bachelorette, I caved to willpower and watched the season premiere of the new Bachelor. In my defense, the only other thing on was The Swan, and I do have to hold myself to some standards. And besides, someone has to keep an eye on Kristen's husband!
I was surprised to find that the first episode actually exceeded my expectations (which, granted, were pretty low to begin with, but still). Jaso--er, Jesse said the wrong name at the rose ceremony and had to rescind his final rose. (But he did take Chris Harrison's mealy-mouthed suggestion to let the rejected girl stay anyway...and she accepted! If it were me, I totally would have said, "I don't need a pity rose!" and stormed off. But this is why I'm not on the show.) Plus, this season, there's a spy! And a stalker! This could be--dare I say it?--interesting. Too bad I'll have to miss most of it while battling my crippling addiction to The O.C.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
The return of the lengthy Idol recap
To those of you who don't give a crap, I apologize. But for those of you who do, here we go...
Why is it that the worst performers on American Idol consistently chose to sing my favorite song in a particular genre or by a particular artist? Are they trying to torture me? Last year, Josh Gracin did it when he picked "Piano Man." And this year, Camile Velasco has done it again by choosing "Good-bye, Yellow Brick Road," which is one of my favorite Elton John songs. Fortunately, she didn't get a chance to screw up the line about "a couple of vodk-er and tonics," which is my favorite one in the song and would be completely wrong as sung by anyone other than Elton John (and me, in my car). As I recall, Josh Gracin didn't sing my favorite line in "Piano Man," either (the one about the waitress practicing politics while the businessmen slowly get stoned). It's a good thing all of my favorite lines are about drinking and drugs and are therefore probably banned on such family-friendly programming.
It's also probably a good thing that my other favorite Elton John song ("Rocket Man") was sung by my boyfriend, Jon Peter Lewis. Actually, that's not any better, because JP really can't sing. Too bad this isn't Looking Adorable in a Velvet Blazer Idol, because that's something he does very well. Although come to think of it, the title "American Idol" is a little vague. If they were going to be specific about what they wanted out of this competition, they'd call it Loud Pop-Song Singing Idol. So who's to say that a major criterion for choosing an "American Idol" can't be looking really adorable in a velvet blazer? Judging by Jon's enormous fan base, I'd say it might already be.
On the bright side, John Stevens picked my least favorite Elton John song ("Crocodile Rock") and made me hate it even more with his cringe-worthy performance. Good job, John!
Come to think of it, I've always had a fondness for the original version of "Candle in the Wind," which surprisingly no one picked to sing. So I guess there is still one vestige of Elton John that remains unsullied by the American Idol contestants. Unless, of course, they're just saving it for the big group medley tonight, in which case, God help us all.
As we move along in the competition, there are a few things that are starting (or continuing) to get on my nerves. For instance:
-Fantasia ending every song she sings with "Yeah, yeah, yea-yea-yeaaaaah." This is just really uncalled for, in my opinion.
-Jasmine Trias's flower. At first I didn't mind the flower. But last night when I saw her wearing the flower with her sweats at rehearsals, it began to annoy me. The flower became symbolic for everything I don't like about her personality. She probably goes to sleep with the flower behind her ear, and when she wakes up, it is as pristine as when she went to bed. Jasmine probably has a flower behind her ear when she's totally hung over and has her head in a toilet bowl. Ah, who am I kidding? Jasmine doesn't get hung over. She probably doesn't drink, and if she does, she probably sticks to one type of alcoholic beverage and alternates each one with a glass of water to prevent a hangover instead of mixing alcoholic beverages willy-nilly throughout the night and then trying some last-ditch effort to stave off the hangover by attempting to drink an entire gallon of water while standing in front of the fridge. Not that I know anyone who would do such a thing.
-The fact that I spotted young children in the audience last night sporting Camile Velasco's Rastafarian wristband. The concept of a Rastafarian wristband is bad in and of itself, but the fact that these impressionable young minds have already been influenced by Camile is proof that my earlier worries were not the least bit unfounded. People, we have to stop her before she creates her own voting army of bad-haired, Rastafarian-wristband-wearing children!
-The fact that Ryan Seacrest still insists on using the catch phrase that didn't catch: "Seacrest, out!" I feel I must bring this up repeatedly in hopes of putting an end to it. After all, last season (and for the first part of this one), I repeatedly skewered his ludicrous wardrobe here on the blog, and, in addition to garnering many searches for the phrase "Ryan Seacrest's wardrobe" (which I now believe were an attempt by Ryan himself to see what nasty things I was saying about him), I seem to have been successful in getting him to dress like a normal person. Perhaps if I start seeing searches for "Seacrest, out!" pop up, I'll know that he's starting to get the message that EVERYONE HATES THAT PHRASE.
To those of you who don't give a crap, I apologize. But for those of you who do, here we go...
Why is it that the worst performers on American Idol consistently chose to sing my favorite song in a particular genre or by a particular artist? Are they trying to torture me? Last year, Josh Gracin did it when he picked "Piano Man." And this year, Camile Velasco has done it again by choosing "Good-bye, Yellow Brick Road," which is one of my favorite Elton John songs. Fortunately, she didn't get a chance to screw up the line about "a couple of vodk-er and tonics," which is my favorite one in the song and would be completely wrong as sung by anyone other than Elton John (and me, in my car). As I recall, Josh Gracin didn't sing my favorite line in "Piano Man," either (the one about the waitress practicing politics while the businessmen slowly get stoned). It's a good thing all of my favorite lines are about drinking and drugs and are therefore probably banned on such family-friendly programming.
It's also probably a good thing that my other favorite Elton John song ("Rocket Man") was sung by my boyfriend, Jon Peter Lewis. Actually, that's not any better, because JP really can't sing. Too bad this isn't Looking Adorable in a Velvet Blazer Idol, because that's something he does very well. Although come to think of it, the title "American Idol" is a little vague. If they were going to be specific about what they wanted out of this competition, they'd call it Loud Pop-Song Singing Idol. So who's to say that a major criterion for choosing an "American Idol" can't be looking really adorable in a velvet blazer? Judging by Jon's enormous fan base, I'd say it might already be.
On the bright side, John Stevens picked my least favorite Elton John song ("Crocodile Rock") and made me hate it even more with his cringe-worthy performance. Good job, John!
Come to think of it, I've always had a fondness for the original version of "Candle in the Wind," which surprisingly no one picked to sing. So I guess there is still one vestige of Elton John that remains unsullied by the American Idol contestants. Unless, of course, they're just saving it for the big group medley tonight, in which case, God help us all.
As we move along in the competition, there are a few things that are starting (or continuing) to get on my nerves. For instance:
-Fantasia ending every song she sings with "Yeah, yeah, yea-yea-yeaaaaah." This is just really uncalled for, in my opinion.
-Jasmine Trias's flower. At first I didn't mind the flower. But last night when I saw her wearing the flower with her sweats at rehearsals, it began to annoy me. The flower became symbolic for everything I don't like about her personality. She probably goes to sleep with the flower behind her ear, and when she wakes up, it is as pristine as when she went to bed. Jasmine probably has a flower behind her ear when she's totally hung over and has her head in a toilet bowl. Ah, who am I kidding? Jasmine doesn't get hung over. She probably doesn't drink, and if she does, she probably sticks to one type of alcoholic beverage and alternates each one with a glass of water to prevent a hangover instead of mixing alcoholic beverages willy-nilly throughout the night and then trying some last-ditch effort to stave off the hangover by attempting to drink an entire gallon of water while standing in front of the fridge. Not that I know anyone who would do such a thing.
-The fact that I spotted young children in the audience last night sporting Camile Velasco's Rastafarian wristband. The concept of a Rastafarian wristband is bad in and of itself, but the fact that these impressionable young minds have already been influenced by Camile is proof that my earlier worries were not the least bit unfounded. People, we have to stop her before she creates her own voting army of bad-haired, Rastafarian-wristband-wearing children!
-The fact that Ryan Seacrest still insists on using the catch phrase that didn't catch: "Seacrest, out!" I feel I must bring this up repeatedly in hopes of putting an end to it. After all, last season (and for the first part of this one), I repeatedly skewered his ludicrous wardrobe here on the blog, and, in addition to garnering many searches for the phrase "Ryan Seacrest's wardrobe" (which I now believe were an attempt by Ryan himself to see what nasty things I was saying about him), I seem to have been successful in getting him to dress like a normal person. Perhaps if I start seeing searches for "Seacrest, out!" pop up, I'll know that he's starting to get the message that EVERYONE HATES THAT PHRASE.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Ha!
It seems that someone else (i.e. Shack on TWoP) has noticed what The Tyrant and I have already pointed out (i.e. the complete lameness of Ryan Seacrest concluding every episode of American Idol by saying, "Seacrest out!"). Witness:
Then he ends with his sad attempt at creating a signature tagline -- "Seacrest, out." Which is sad, lame, uncreative, and at this point, not even true. If you catch my drift.
Perhaps what this Alliance needs to be effective this year is Shack on our side. Especially since he has also been known to possess some mystical powers as far as controlling what happens on American Idol. Plus, last year when he finally focused the full effect of his hatred upon Carmen, she was ousted soon after. The man has a good track record.
Unfortunately, at this point, Shack currently hates too many contestants to make his power strong enough to eliminate Camile. Not that I blame him. As I said before, there are very few contestants this season worth actually liking. But please, Shack, on behalf of The Alliance, I beg you to focus your energy on Camile. We must present a unified front if we are to keep her from assaulting us week after week with her horrible singing and even more horrible facial expressions. With Shack and Kristin's mom on our side, there's no way we can lose! We'll discuss the issue of John Stevens next week.
It seems that someone else (i.e. Shack on TWoP) has noticed what The Tyrant and I have already pointed out (i.e. the complete lameness of Ryan Seacrest concluding every episode of American Idol by saying, "Seacrest out!"). Witness:
Then he ends with his sad attempt at creating a signature tagline -- "Seacrest, out." Which is sad, lame, uncreative, and at this point, not even true. If you catch my drift.
Perhaps what this Alliance needs to be effective this year is Shack on our side. Especially since he has also been known to possess some mystical powers as far as controlling what happens on American Idol. Plus, last year when he finally focused the full effect of his hatred upon Carmen, she was ousted soon after. The man has a good track record.
Unfortunately, at this point, Shack currently hates too many contestants to make his power strong enough to eliminate Camile. Not that I blame him. As I said before, there are very few contestants this season worth actually liking. But please, Shack, on behalf of The Alliance, I beg you to focus your energy on Camile. We must present a unified front if we are to keep her from assaulting us week after week with her horrible singing and even more horrible facial expressions. With Shack and Kristin's mom on our side, there's no way we can lose! We'll discuss the issue of John Stevens next week.
Memo to Chris Martin: Enunciate!
Once again, Coldplay is to blame for another lyrical mistake by yours truly. I had a hunch that this lyric from "A Rush of Blood to the Head" was actually not what I thought it was, yet I could never remember to look it up on the Internet. (And of course Coldplay does not include lyrics in their liner notes, which I think is just a big ploy on the part of Chris Martin to have some fun at my expense. I bet he and Gwyneth are sitting in Lamaze class laughing at me right now!) Anyway. I did finally remember to look up the lyric today, and discovered that I actually liked my version better.
Actual lyric: "Honey, all the movements you're starting to make..."
Lyric heard by me: "Honey, all the movements are starting to bleed..."
OK, I'll admit that my lyric doesn't make all that much sense. But it does add a little bit of extra drama to the song (which, granted, is already pretty dramatic, but extra drama never hurts). Besides, unlike certain people, I am able to enunciate clearly when I sing. Perhaps I should be the new lead singer of Coldplay! On second thought, that probably wouldn't go over very well.
Once again, Coldplay is to blame for another lyrical mistake by yours truly. I had a hunch that this lyric from "A Rush of Blood to the Head" was actually not what I thought it was, yet I could never remember to look it up on the Internet. (And of course Coldplay does not include lyrics in their liner notes, which I think is just a big ploy on the part of Chris Martin to have some fun at my expense. I bet he and Gwyneth are sitting in Lamaze class laughing at me right now!) Anyway. I did finally remember to look up the lyric today, and discovered that I actually liked my version better.
Actual lyric: "Honey, all the movements you're starting to make..."
Lyric heard by me: "Honey, all the movements are starting to bleed..."
OK, I'll admit that my lyric doesn't make all that much sense. But it does add a little bit of extra drama to the song (which, granted, is already pretty dramatic, but extra drama never hurts). Besides, unlike certain people, I am able to enunciate clearly when I sing. Perhaps I should be the new lead singer of Coldplay! On second thought, that probably wouldn't go over very well.
Monday, April 05, 2004
It makes me want to wear better shoes
I went to the grand opening of the very first DSW in Birmingham under the pretense of trying to find some shoes to wear for Easter, and now I am totally in love. I could have walked out of there with at least four or five pairs of shoes, but I had to restrain myself. I am by no means a shoe fiend (unlike my former roommate), but I'm afraid this store could turn me into one. This is not good news for my wallet.
Come on down!
My summer plans just keep getting better and better. Bri and I have arranged the dates of our Great American Road Trip so that we can attend a taping of The Price Is Right once we get to L.A. Going on The Price Is Right has been my dream even before going on the Great American Road Trip was my dream. Ooh, I hope I make it on the show. (And I hope I get to play Plinko! Or that car game where you say, "Gentlemen, do I have at least one number right?" Or the game with the yodeling man. I'm not picky.) Apparently they interview all of the audience members before the taping, and that's how they determine who makes it to Contestant's Row. Perhaps I can wow them by putting my entire fist in my mouth, which is what got me on Millionaire. At the very least, we'll have to make some awesome shirts.
I went to the grand opening of the very first DSW in Birmingham under the pretense of trying to find some shoes to wear for Easter, and now I am totally in love. I could have walked out of there with at least four or five pairs of shoes, but I had to restrain myself. I am by no means a shoe fiend (unlike my former roommate), but I'm afraid this store could turn me into one. This is not good news for my wallet.
Come on down!
My summer plans just keep getting better and better. Bri and I have arranged the dates of our Great American Road Trip so that we can attend a taping of The Price Is Right once we get to L.A. Going on The Price Is Right has been my dream even before going on the Great American Road Trip was my dream. Ooh, I hope I make it on the show. (And I hope I get to play Plinko! Or that car game where you say, "Gentlemen, do I have at least one number right?" Or the game with the yodeling man. I'm not picky.) Apparently they interview all of the audience members before the taping, and that's how they determine who makes it to Contestant's Row. Perhaps I can wow them by putting my entire fist in my mouth, which is what got me on Millionaire. At the very least, we'll have to make some awesome shirts.
Friday, April 02, 2004
Reality TV editors: 4,792, Clare: 0
You'd think that a person who watches as much reality television as I do would eventually develop a cynical eye to the fact that all reality shows are edited so that the losers look like they'll be the winners, and vice versa. But no. It's not like I'm stupid and don't realize this is what's going on. It's just that I get so caught up in the show that I forget that, nine times out of 10, what I think is going to happen is the exact opposite of what is actually going to happen. This is why I should not try to predict the outcomes of reality shows.
Last night on The Apprentice, right up until Carolyn announced Nick and Amy's lease amount, I totally thought they were going to lose. And right up until Trump told Troy, "You're fired," I totally thought Kwame was getting the axe.
Before you start thinking I'm hopelessly naive, let me just say that last prediction was not just based on the show last night. My forecast that Troy would be on the final show was at least partially based on an interview I read with Troy in USA Today a few weeks ago. The article, which predicted Troy as the winner of the show, mentioned that he already knew whether he was in the top two or not, and included the following quote from Troy: "I'm cautiously optimistic." Why would he say he was cautiously optimistic, I thought, if he knew he'd already been fired? I realize now that this was giving too much credit to the journalistic integrity of USA Today and that this quote was probably taken completely out of context.
Although I was incorrect in my prediction of who would be fired, did you notice that the reason I gave last week for why The Donald would never pick Troy as the winner was, word-for-word, the exact same reason The Donald himself gave when firing Troy? Apparently, The Donald and I are of the same mind. Scary.
You'd think that a person who watches as much reality television as I do would eventually develop a cynical eye to the fact that all reality shows are edited so that the losers look like they'll be the winners, and vice versa. But no. It's not like I'm stupid and don't realize this is what's going on. It's just that I get so caught up in the show that I forget that, nine times out of 10, what I think is going to happen is the exact opposite of what is actually going to happen. This is why I should not try to predict the outcomes of reality shows.
Last night on The Apprentice, right up until Carolyn announced Nick and Amy's lease amount, I totally thought they were going to lose. And right up until Trump told Troy, "You're fired," I totally thought Kwame was getting the axe.
Before you start thinking I'm hopelessly naive, let me just say that last prediction was not just based on the show last night. My forecast that Troy would be on the final show was at least partially based on an interview I read with Troy in USA Today a few weeks ago. The article, which predicted Troy as the winner of the show, mentioned that he already knew whether he was in the top two or not, and included the following quote from Troy: "I'm cautiously optimistic." Why would he say he was cautiously optimistic, I thought, if he knew he'd already been fired? I realize now that this was giving too much credit to the journalistic integrity of USA Today and that this quote was probably taken completely out of context.
Although I was incorrect in my prediction of who would be fired, did you notice that the reason I gave last week for why The Donald would never pick Troy as the winner was, word-for-word, the exact same reason The Donald himself gave when firing Troy? Apparently, The Donald and I are of the same mind. Scary.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
California, here we come
Yesterday, I got the best birthday present ever. I found out that I am going to get to fulfill one of my lifelong (well, if not lifelong, then at least since I read Francesca and Andrea Delbanco's story in Seventeen magazine) dreams. Yes, that's right, dear readers. I am going on the Great American Road Trip.
Bri and I first hatched the idea to take The Great American Road Trip together sometime last year, when she mentioned that she was thinking of going to grad school in California and, if she did, wondered if I would accompany her on the drive out there. We were excited about the prospect of a road trip, but disheartened that said road trip wouldn't occur until 2005, when she graduates. Plus, I was concerned that, because 2005 is when I am set to make my next birthday pilgrimage to France, I wouldn't be able to do both things in the same year.
Then, about a month ago, Bri e-mailed me to tell me that she was applying for internships in California this summer, which would mean our road trip could happen sooner than expected. She applied to a program at UCLA, but was concerned because she had sent her materials in very close to the application date and wasn't sure if they would be accepted. I, too, had some concerns, mostly related to money and whether going on this trip would preclude me from going on other trips I wanted to take throughout the year.
Much to our relief, everything has fallen into place over the last few days. First, I found out that I got a freelance proofreading job, which will give me some extra cash to use for this and other vacations. And yesterday, Bri found out that she had been accepted to the UCLA program. We had already pretty much decided that we were going to do the road trip this summer no matter what, but the fact that all of these things have come together in the way we wanted just makes it that much easier.
The excitement that I felt last night at the prospect of our Great American Road Trip was so great that it couldn't even be dampened by the completely shocking and inexplicable turn of events on American Idol. It is now more apparent than ever that Camile is indeed the second coming of the Antichrist (also known as Carmen Rasmusen). What's worse is that Camile seems to have hired Julia DeMato as her hairstylist, as I can't imagine who else could have come up with that monstrosity that was on her head last night. Three small knots on the top of one side of her head, and a low side ponytail on the other? No. Just no.
Please, people. We have to do something about this before it gets out of hand. There are impressionable young children watching this show! Do you want them running around with bad hair? If nothing else, do it for the sake of the children!
Yesterday, I got the best birthday present ever. I found out that I am going to get to fulfill one of my lifelong (well, if not lifelong, then at least since I read Francesca and Andrea Delbanco's story in Seventeen magazine) dreams. Yes, that's right, dear readers. I am going on the Great American Road Trip.
Bri and I first hatched the idea to take The Great American Road Trip together sometime last year, when she mentioned that she was thinking of going to grad school in California and, if she did, wondered if I would accompany her on the drive out there. We were excited about the prospect of a road trip, but disheartened that said road trip wouldn't occur until 2005, when she graduates. Plus, I was concerned that, because 2005 is when I am set to make my next birthday pilgrimage to France, I wouldn't be able to do both things in the same year.
Then, about a month ago, Bri e-mailed me to tell me that she was applying for internships in California this summer, which would mean our road trip could happen sooner than expected. She applied to a program at UCLA, but was concerned because she had sent her materials in very close to the application date and wasn't sure if they would be accepted. I, too, had some concerns, mostly related to money and whether going on this trip would preclude me from going on other trips I wanted to take throughout the year.
Much to our relief, everything has fallen into place over the last few days. First, I found out that I got a freelance proofreading job, which will give me some extra cash to use for this and other vacations. And yesterday, Bri found out that she had been accepted to the UCLA program. We had already pretty much decided that we were going to do the road trip this summer no matter what, but the fact that all of these things have come together in the way we wanted just makes it that much easier.
The excitement that I felt last night at the prospect of our Great American Road Trip was so great that it couldn't even be dampened by the completely shocking and inexplicable turn of events on American Idol. It is now more apparent than ever that Camile is indeed the second coming of the Antichrist (also known as Carmen Rasmusen). What's worse is that Camile seems to have hired Julia DeMato as her hairstylist, as I can't imagine who else could have come up with that monstrosity that was on her head last night. Three small knots on the top of one side of her head, and a low side ponytail on the other? No. Just no.
Please, people. We have to do something about this before it gets out of hand. There are impressionable young children watching this show! Do you want them running around with bad hair? If nothing else, do it for the sake of the children!
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